Zulu Team: The Epitome of Survival
by Question The Nether
Summary: During the course of the Human-Covenant war, heroes were made to combat the alien hordes and ensure the survival of more than just humanity; these brave men and women showed traits that would be admired for years to come. The cast of this tale...does not involve these kinds of champions. However, when an invisible, yet deadly, threat reared its head, they were all we had.
1. Prologue

Chapter 1: Things That Lurk

[**July 23, 2552**

**2235 hours**

**Ichinabis forest**

** Planet Reach...**]

The barrel of an MA5B poked through the tall, dense underbrush of the expansive forest. The rest of the weapon followed, and then a man stepped through and into a clearing, scanning the area for any hostiles. As an Insurrectionist, there was plenty trying to kill him.

"Clear," Jonesy eventually said.

The rest of his team emerged alongside him, weapons up.

"How much longer 'till we get there?" Butch, the heavy weapons guy, asked.

"Still a few klicks north," his CO replied, eyes darting from the trees' branches above to the ten feet tall walls of bushes surrounding them. He was expecting an ambush.

"So, what exactly is the plan?" Private Mark Andrews asked, the uncertainty he was feeling reflected in his voice.

His CO sighed. "What is it, Andrews? You've already been briefed, and reminded of our objective at least five times on our way here. Are you scared? Is that it?"

"Well, yeah," Mark admitted. "Aren't you?"

"No. Thanks to our shady friends, our identities are now those of troops of the UNSC, presumed dead, but classified as missing-in-action. They'll never find out who we really are. Not if we play our parts well."

"But that's not what I mean. I'm talking about," he took a quick glance at the underbrush ahead of him, "Zulu Team."

At that moment, everything seemed to stand still. The wind stopped blowing on leaves, the indigenous wildlife ceased its chatter, and their surroundings seemed a lot darker and foreboding.

Then Jonesy ended it all by laughing.

"Are you kidding me?" he said. "Zulu Team? The 'big, bad' group of freaks? You know they don't exist!"

"Shhh!" Private Andrews urged him.

"Really, that's what you're scared of? UNSC propaganda?" He snorted. "I can't believe you. Well, actually, I can, but this is just fucking ridiculous."

"Yeah," agreed a female voice from behind him. "That's too unreal."

They all turned in the direction of the unwelcome woman, only to see there was nothing there. At first glance, at least. The more they focused, the more visible the shimmer in the air was.

"I mean, a team of five highly-trained death-dealing monsters with the single purpose of acting as merciless agents of destruction without a leash, and are hell-bent on otherwise seriously fucking your shit up?" With each second, the voice got closer to Jonesy, the shimmer took another step forward and became less of a reflection of light and more of a person. By the end of her sentence, the person was revealed to be a six foot tall figure encased in red-with-blue armor.

Somehow, Jonesy could tell she had a twisted grin behind her visor as she leaned over him.

"That's just fucking ridiculous."

All at once, the innies snapped out of their trance and fired at the hostile. She jumped into the air higher than any of them thought possible, easily making it over the surrounding trees and going invisible again. There came a rustling from just a few yards away as she landed.

Mark looked around, doing a full three-sixty on his heels. "She's still out there," he cried. "We need to get out of here. Get back to base!"

"For once, I'm inclined to agree with you, Private," his CO said, struggling to keep his cool. He pointed in the direction they'd come from. "Let's go! We've been found out. This mission is scrapped!" They were all too happy to oblige, running back into the underbrush to escape whatever horrors awaited deeper within the forest.

Their professionalism had fallen to pure survival instincts; the choice between fight or flight, but fight wasn't an option. Low-hanging branches and tall shrubs slapped at their armor and obstructed their view. Adrenaline ran through their veins, blood pounded in their ears, fatigue quickly settled in, but fear kept them going. The only one who dared to look back was Butch, who was willing to lay down suppressive fire. He spotted movement to his left. He tracked it.

The thought of stopping for breath crossed Mark's mind a few times, but he pushed it away every time, his fear encouraging him to go on. Then he noticed that they were a man short. A strangled cry came from somewhere behind him, giving him enough reason to stop and turn.

Butch seemed to have tripped and fallen forward, but was being held off the ground. By the way the flesh on his neck was being manipulated it was simple to deduce that he was being strangled by an invisible hand with a steel grip. Then some sort of cosmic force seemed to bend him so far back over something Mark was sure his spine had broken. The next few seconds were a blur.

Butch's eyes bulged as his windpipe was ripped put and presented in front of him, an agonized scream fought to escape his lungs. The wet, sticky clump of flesh plopped to the ground with a sickening _squelch. _A tray spurt of blood shot out of the hole in his neck, splashing onto the deadly figure that had mutilated the proud man and revealing some sort of visor, similar to the woman they'd encountered earlier. It let Butch fall to the ground, and looked directly at Pvt. Andrews.

Andrews had his magnum out and leveled without even having to think of it, and emptied his magazine in under four seconds; a frenzied attempt at saving his skin. Dirt was kicked up as the being slid to the side, evading the incoming rounds. Mark didn't even care that he had missed his target; at that point he was running again. The act he'd just witnessed renewed his adrenaline, and before he knew it he was running alongside Jonesy.

"Hey," he said to Mark, "where's Butch?" He got no reply, but from the look on the private's face, he could tell Butch wouldn't be seen again.

Before the feeling of losing a comrade could fully settle in, some movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. His assault rifle was up by the time their CO was knocked down by an unseen menace. His sidearm was out in an instant, and he yelled at his assaulter as he shot. The air in front of him flared a bright orange that covered a tall, burly figure. A figure that held a giant hammer over its head.

The weapon came down before anyone could react.

A final gunshot rang through the air before a giant blade split the innie leader's head in two, passing neatly through his open mouth. He went limp as a river of crimson shot out of his severed head and soaked the soil underneath.

Mark stayed frozen in fear, while Jonesy was running in some random direction. "Run!" he yelled. "Snap out of it and run!" Mark obliged.

They ran like a couple of bats out of hell, neither of them saying anything until they reached another clearing, this one being much smaller than the one they'd run away from. Jonesy paced back and forth while Mark looked at him with a thousand-yard stare. "That's it, then. We're screwed." He stopped pacing and looked at the private. "And you know what? You were right." He chuckled nervously. "You were absolutely right. Now we're dead. We're dead! We. Are. De-"

The _crack _of a sniper rifle interrupted the innie's descent into madness. Mark blinked, and suddenly Jonesy was missing his lower jaw, tongue hanging out with nothing to hold it in. All kinds of gore dribbled down his throat, before he fell into a pool of his own blood.

Mark sank to his knees, his face showing no emotion, his will broken, sanity destroyed, and courage depleted. The sound of grass crunching under heavy boots made him look up.

The same woman that had scared them off appeared out of thin air, followed by another armored super-soldier to Mark's left, one to his right, and two more behind him. The woman approached him, one hand on her visor, and the other reaching for the M45 on her back. "Heh, that was fun. All good things must come to an end, though. Oh, and don't worry about the whole 'agents-of-destruction' thing." She pressed the muzzle of her shotgun to his forehead. "We're actually much, much worse."

Mark finally opened his mouth to scream and express his anguish, but he never got to.

He was silenced by a pull of the trigger.


	2. The Story Really Begins

Chapter 2: Cloak and Dagger…and Plasma Burns

_From: CODENAME DIE SCHATTEN _

_ To: CODENAME DIE ANZUG_

_ Subject: PSYCHOLOGICAL ANALYSIS OF [REDACTED]_

_ During times of extreme conflict, when the opposition has us cornered, outnumbered, and outgunned, it's rational to turn to drastic measures to prevent our extinction. That being said, your position to have [REDACTED] lead your team of carefully selected misfits is quite… questionable. When you look at her, you may see a little girl in the body of one of humanity's new breed of super-soldiers, but there's something else underneath all of that joviality and her casual demeanor. Just the fact that she acted so foolish after witnessing the destruction of her home (See: _Battle of Eridanus II) _disturbs me. She even treated the SPARTAN-III project like fun at a summer camp. One does not simply stay sane after choking on the ashes of their world, especially at that young an age. What she is hiding from us is bottled up emotions just ready to be released at the drop of a hat. I'm more afraid of her than I am of Samantha-A115 (also not recommended for this team). You probably think of that idea as absurd, but my studying of her over these past three months (as per your orders) holds enough evidence to prove her mental instability (details in attached encrypted file)._

_ Please, I know how determined you are to get this project underway, but at least take in the full meaning of my words, and be prepared to accept full responsibility for whatever may happen. _

_ Codename: DIE SCHATTEN_

_ 0100 hours, January 1, 2536 (Military Calendar) \ [REDACTED]_

* * *

_ From: CODENAME DIE ANZUG_

_ To: CODENAME DIE SCHATTEN_

_ Subject: Re: PSYCHOLOGICAL ANALYSIS OF [REDACTED]_

_ Then let's hope she's facing the enemy when she snaps._

_ Codename: DIE ANZUG_

_ 0115 hours, January 1, 2536 (Military Calendar) \ [REDACTED]_

* * *

[**July 24, 2552**

**1109 hours**

**Base Zulu**

**Planet Reach…**]

If you know anything about hotels, then you would know that—as common sense dictates—they are usually located somewhere easy to access. By "usually" I of course mean always. The more people who stay there, the more money you rake in. Simple stuff, right? What happens, though, when someone decides they want the first of their chain of hotels to be built in the middle of the woods? They make the worst freakin' mistake in the history of business, that's what. Since the only people who would consider staying in such a place were people who were out camping, and that kind of defeats the purpose of camping (Beats it so bad it gets bragging rights. The same bragging rights your friends will use once they find out you slept in a hotel on your camping trip, you wuss), the hotel was sold.

It was bought by someone with an obscene amount of money. Of course he did, he was a part of ONI, and he had an incredible lack of a small budget. The hotel was renovated to be a military base, not used for your standard marine. Those that did stay there would tell you that the place was a paradise compared to most other places they could have been stationed at. Oh, and to stay away from anyone in Zulu Team. Anyone.

They're bad for your health.

* * *

"Thirty-nine."

"Huh?" The Major snapped out of her daydream and looked at the man sitting behind the old oak desk.

"Thirty-nine," Director Garrison repeated. "That's the number of vehicles we lost just last week."

"Thirty-nine, eh?" The Major smiled, placing her feet against the side of his desk to push, rocking her chair back and forth. "That's not bad."

"Well, it might've been, if you and your team weren't the cause for these losses."

The Major's rocking faltered as she pushed back, and lost control. Her arms flailed around wildly and the next thing she knew she was on the floor, her chair tipped over. The Director stood up and leaned over his desk to take a look at her.

"How is that even possible?" The Major said, standing up and rubbing the spot where she'd hit her head.

"Well let me see…" Director Garrison took out a piece of paper from a cabinet in his desk and sat back down. The Major gulped, sure that she wouldn't like what she'd hear. "You strapped C-14 to a mongoose and set it off fifty feet away from the Insurrectionist base you were trying to infiltrate, chained a Warthog to a tree and had Sergei use it as a mace, crashed a Scorpion into a Falcon…while over fifteen-thousand feet in the air—seriously, you could have just shot it. Ah, and of course there's that whole incident with one of our frigates."

The Major groaned.

"And that one drunken incident of yours that almost cost us our hangar."

She growled this time. That had not been a good day for her.

"Oh, and my personal favorite —"

"Okay, you made your point," the Major said half-heartedly. "Is that all you wanted to say, or is there more?"

Director Garrison set the paper down and rubbed his eyes. "No, I suppose I don't have much to say in the way of scolding you, but you do have to cut back on all the, er…"

"Crazy?" she offered.

"I was gonna say bat-shit insane, but I think that works too."

"So if that'll be all." The Major made for the door.

"Hold up." She froze, but because of this the object the Director had tossed to her hit her head. He flinched. "Sorry." The Major ignored him and picked up the small data disk off the ground.

"What do I…?"

"There are coordinates there that'll take you to your mission objective. Give it to Sam, and let your team know that you have something to do."

"Geez, bossy," she muttered on her way out of the office. She took the elevator down to the first floor and set off to the hallway where Zulu Team's rooms were located within close proximity of each other.

Her first stop was Rick: her second in command and man of technical expertise. He's kind of like tech support, but he fixes problems. Unlike tech support.

The Major stopped outside Rick's door and knocked. A few seconds later there was a buzz from within the room and the automatic door opened. All other noises in the hallway were immediately drowned out by the sounds of a blowtorch and several different gears turning in place. She stepped into the dark room, easily spotting Rick sitting at his workbench, with his blue-tinted goggles protecting his eyes, the flame from the blowtorch in his hand casting a bright light on his grinning face…

_Rick [Don't call him Richard]_

…and making his fair skin look even more pale than usual. He stopped his working on…whatever, when the Major turned on the light. Rick pulled his goggles up to his forehead and turned off the blowtorch.

"So, Major, what brings you to my humble abode: business or pleasure?"

"Depends on how you see it. We may or may not be shooting stuff today."

"Ah," Rick scratched his chin, "I see."

"Yeah, sooo, get ready for that, then get to _Icarus. _Y'know, business as usual."

"I thought you said it was either/or." She ignored him.

"And while you're at it, be sure to spread the word to the rest of Zulu."

"Okay, I'll get on that."

They stayed there in awkward silence, the Major with her arms crossed and tapping her foot while Rick ran a hand through dark, messy hair.

"What?" he finally asked.

"I'm waiting for you to get going."

"Well I can't just do that with you standing there!" he more or less blurted out. "Feels weird."

She took a step forward. He instinctively took a step back.

"Uh, Major?"

Two more steps from each of them.

"What are you doing?"

Just a few more steps and she was right in front of him.

"Still weird?" she asked in a way that made him uncomfortable.

"Uh, yeah." Rick took a hold of her shoulders and pushed her away. "I'm going now," he said before leaving the room. The Major followed, but only until she'd made it out into the hallway. Then she walked off in the opposite direction, toward Samantha's room.

The Major pretty much repeated the process from Rick's room, but this time she stepped to the side to avoid a thrown combat knife that sailed past her face. It was second nature to her by now.

"Oh hi." Sam didn't apologize for nearly making her friend wear an eye patch for rest of her life, even though she probably should have, considering that's the kind of thing that destroys most relationships. "What brings you to my humble—?"

The Major held up a hand to silence her. "Save it. Rick already used that line."

"Dammit. I can never do that before him." Sam walked over to her bed before plopping down on it. "Seriously, why are you here?"

The Major reached into her jacket pocket and took out the small data disk, which she tossed to Sam. "Everything we need to know is on that disk."

Sam examined the tiny device in the palm of her hand. "All right, I'll take a look and get back to you on that."

"Good." The Major walked to the door. "We leave in fifteen."

"Wait, we have a mission?"

"That's what the disk is for."

"Should have seen that coming," Sam muttered.

"You really should have." With that, she left Sam alone and exited the room, heading for the maintenance bay, where the heavy clanking of machinery and noises of power tools were a constant reminder that it was, in fact, a maintenance bay. For maintaining machinery.

Anyhow, once there the Major ended up at the back of the bay, where seven booths were isolated from everything else. They were quite big, and took up most of the space on the back wall, as they should be, considering the machine each booth held. Her jacket slinked down her shoulders as she stepped through the heavy curtain that served to separate her from the rest of the bay, and it came off and packed into a drawer in the corner of the room. The rest of her clothes followed suit, until she reached the bare essentials. Afterwards, she turned to look at the machine that took up most of the space in the booth.

It was more or less a tangle of mechanical limbs that hung from the ceiling and stuck out of the floor, all surrounding a platform held a foot off the ground. In most of the limbs' grip there was a piece of armor the colors of red the shade of brick, and blue. The Major turned to the glass case next to it and took a look at the dark bodysuit inside.

"Well, here we go again…"

* * *

Rick sat at the top of the ramp of _Icarus_, Zulu Team's Pelican, in his armor that fit his engineer/mechanic/hacker/man-of-technical-expertis e role very well. He sighed and fingered his magnum, turning it over in his hands. Recon, the sniper, was sitting in the Pelican, his sniper resting on his lap. Sergei sat across from him, sharpening his gravity hammer's blade with his combat knife. Or vice-versa? Look, he has a giant blade with the power to distort gravity, the specifics aren't really that important.

"So Recon," the engie/mechromancer/hackzor/M.o.T.E: Warfighter began, "What do you make of all this?"

The mute didn't respond.

"Yeah, I know. It's pretty crazy."

"_You're _pretty crazy if you think he'll ever respond."

Rick looked out the Pelican's cargo bay again to see Zulu-One, armed and armored up.

"Yeah, I know that, but I have nobody else to talk to."

Sergei cleared his throat, and the other Spartans turned to look at him. Except for Recon, because he was sitting across from him, so he was already looking at him by default.

"No offense, Sergei, but you're not really the best when it comes to conversations," said the Major.

"What are you talking about?" Sergei raised his hammer; light reflected off its blade. Rick instinctively jumped to his feet. "I am great conversation-er."

The Major stepped back, hands held up as if to defend herself. "Well, we're just saying that when it comes to talking with another human being, you should probably improve on not…" Sergei stood up and took a few practice swings level with her head, "…overreacting."

"Uh, Major, I think we should have a talk." Rick didn't wait for a reply, and took her by the hand before leading her away. Sergei simply shrugged and sat back down.

Once out of earshot (and, more importantly, striking distance), Zulu-Three stopped his hasty retreat and turned to her.

"Thanks for that," she said. "Do you really have something to tell me?"

"Yea—no. No."

"So, what, we just stay here until Sam finishes with whatever she's doing?"

"Why don't you tell me? You're the…" Rick trailed off, looking at something behind the Major. She followed his gaze, and couldn't believe what she saw.

The corner of her mouth twitched as she barely managed to stifle a laugh, and her face started to hurt from the strain of desperately trying not to smile, even though she was wearing a helmet.

Sam was standing before them, arms crossed and with a deadly air of irritation around her. She was in her armor too.

It was pink.

They both doubled over in laughter, no longer able to hold back. The Major held her aching sides and blinked away tears, while Rick almost fell back.

The little patience Sam had was wearing itself thin. "Are you done?" she asked when the laughter subsided to sniggers.

They both straightened back up, composing themselves and trying to breathe normally again. The Major was the first one to speak. "So you re-really went through with…with…" Rick looked at the Major, and she looked back. Then they burst into another fit of laughter.

Sam was not amused.

"Yes, my armor's pink now. Ha-ha, that's so funny. No, fuck it. It's just so damn hilarious, isn't it? It's not like I had much of a friggin' choice."

"That's right," confirmed the Major. "And if you hadn't stayed true to your word and honored our little bet, I would've had to hold you down and paint that armor of yours myself."

"And I would have loved to see that," Rick thought out loud. Needless to say, the awkward silence that followed was his fault.

Sam cleared her throat. "So, yeah. I checked the info on that data disk," she tapped the side of her helmet, "and I got us a set of coordinates, along with some video stills. Uh, apparently it's some sort of facility. Really official looking. Well, as far as ransacked buildings go. It has this big hole on one side. Plasma caused it, by the look of it."

The Major clapped her hands. "Okay, great. Let's get right on that."

The trio of IIIs made its way back to the Pelican, conversing as they did.

"Why do I get the feeling that we're getting involved in something we really shouldn't be?" asked Rick, feeling just a wee bit, itty-bitty, tiny bit paranoid.

I'm just kidding. He's full blown, "satellites-are-watching-me" paranoid at this point.

"I dunno, maybe 'cause we probably are," replied Sam, ever the optimist.

* * *

[**July 24, 2552**

**1146 hours**

**Abandoned research facility**

**Planet Reach…**]

To stand before the research facility—a once grand building full of knowledgeable individuals—and see its white-washed walls cracked, dirtied, and covered by overgrown foliage, and one side torn asunder by fiery rain, leaving behind a gaping maw that revealed the greater devastation within, the Major could only think of a few fitting words to describe what she saw.

"Man, this place got fucked up."

Yeah, seems about right.

Looking at it now, she could safely infer that the structure had at one point in time been a hub of research and information buzzing with activity. Now it was surrounded by its own rubble, which served to further the stark contrast to the grassy landscape the building sat on.

The Major turned to her team. "All right, I don't see what there is to find here, but if our friends up in Command say there's something to investigate here, then that probably means we're being punished for whatever reason."

Sam jabbed Sergei's ribs with her knife several times, making his shields flare up with each poke. "I don't see why they'd punish _us_," she said, continuing her absentminded task.

"Neither do I—" the Major shrugged, "—but who knows? Maybe we will end up finding something, after all. So what I want is for Rick to head inside and try to find any evidence of what this building was used for. Only then can we deduce why this place was attacked." She pointed at Recon and cocked her head in Rick's direction. "Go with him and look for survivors—not that I'm expecting to find anyone."

Rick nodded, confirming he'd understood the orders he'd been given. Then they just stood there. Awkwardly. Now, Recon is an unreadable fellow, even when not encased in half a ton of armor. At that moment, however, it was very easy to see his confusion, as he kept looking from Rick to the Major, then back to him, rinse and repeat.

"What, now?" Rick asked (finally).

"Yes, now."

"Oh, well, okay." Rick spun on his heel and walked to whatever was left of the facility's front door, Recon following.

"As for the rest of us, it's pretty much the same objective, only we'll be looking out here." She motioned to the great outdoors, a flock of birds taking flight and squawking on cue. "So come on, I don't want this to be a total waste of time."

The remaining Spartans headed off in different directions, each of them having already chosen a specific pile of debris. It didn't take long before Sam's voice rang out through the air, alerting everyone of her discovery. "Hey, I found someone!"

Zulu-One and Four abandoned their search in favor of Two's findings, which just so happened to be a man: middle-aged, jittery, and very confused. He stood atop a hill of concrete and wiring, eyes shifting to and fro.

"Good job, Sam," the Major complimented. "Now, who are you?"

The man didn't reply, just kept jittering.

"Uh, mister? Can you get down here?"

He didn't seem to notice her.

"Look, we can get you out of here…" As soon as she set foot on the hill of debris, the man snapped back into reality.

"They—they're back!" he shouted, but not at her. "They attacked, but they had no real reason," he stared at the Major, but seemed to look through her, "did they?"

"What are you talking about? _Who _are you talking about?"

The man backed away. "They tore up the building, looking for a star. What does it mean?!" The man kept walking back, babbling insanely as he did. Zulu Team stayed where they were. "Why? Why, why, why, why, why, why, why, why, why wh—Ack!"

The unknown man's cries for an answer were stopped short as an energy sword burst from his chest, blood spurting out and staining the tarnished concrete. He was lifted a good two feet off the ground, and he looked at the blade dumbly, whispering "…why?" before being thrown away like a used rag.

The Elite warrior responsible for the untimely demise materialized before them, then another to his side, and another on his other side. Soon enough there were five Spec-Ops Elites glowering at them, energy swords glowing brightly in their four-fingered hands.

"Well, shi—" The Major didn't get to finish her vulgarity as four of the five Covies jumped from their hill, the lead Elite bringing his sword down for her.

The Major managed to roll sideways—her magnum in hand by the end of the maneuver—and came back up firing. The Elite growled as its shields gave out and popped before it could react. It brought up its sword to block the brutal barrage of lead until she stopped to reach for the shotgun on her back, then it attacked.

Sergei strode towards the charging Sangheili lackey, firing his MA5B with one hand while his free hand reached behind his back. The Elite ignored the rounds that grazed and wore down its shields, choosing to instead stay on the offensive. It brought its arm back and ran faster, now only a few meters away. Then Sergei's assault rifle ran dry and he took out his gravity hammer and threw it in the same motion.

The weapon spun end over end, the air whistling and time itself seemed to have slowed down just for this moment. The Elite kept running. And then time caught up with them and the blunt end of the melee weapon crashed into its chest, the blast sending it flying back at a tremendous speed until it collided with a tree, bouncing off and landing on its badly damaged front. The once-great Covenant soldier blacked out, only to wake up to see a pair of heavy-looking black boots.

Sergei picked up his gravity hammer; the Elite reached out to him in a feeble attempt to grab at the Russian man's weapon. It gave out a strangled cry through broken ribs and punctured lungs.

The merciless Spartan hefted his multipurpose tool above his head in a windmill motion, and it stayed there for only a second before coming down and bashing the Elite's head in…

_Sergei [He will break you!]_

…sending brains, bones, and pieces of skin splattering against his armor.

Sam was having a harder time disposing of her problem. Her weapon of choice was her combat knife, and at that close a range there was no room for tricks. All she could do for now was keep dodging its swipes until an opportunity presented itself. The split-lipped alien, on the other hand, was waiting for her to make a mistake.

Sam jumped away from a wide slash, crossing her knife-wielding arm over her chest, then stepped into striking distance and lashed out with her blade. The Elite reeled back at the stinging pain, reaching for the thin, deep gash on its throat. Purple life essence shot out from between its fingers and landed on the Spartan's visor.

"Oh fuck the hell yes."

Just like that, a flip was switched in Sam's head, and she went from being on defense, to straight out offense. The Spec-Ops looked at the female with a new kind of rage.

She'd shed his blood.

She'd spilled his honor.

And now she would—

"Grah!" it cried out as the combat knife stabbed into its shoulder. Samantha dragged the blade sown its arm until she reached its wrist. Wave after wave of Sangheili honor sprayed out of the split skin and coated their grassy surroundings. Its grip on its energy weapon loosened, and it slipped out of cold fingers.

Samantha caught it before it hit the ground.

Through a mind-throbbing haze, the Elite managed to draw its plasma pistol and fire off a torrent of green plasma bolts; however, its senses had dulled to the point that it only scorched land. The air cleared up, and she was gone.

It barely managed a confused twitch of its mandibles before its head snapped back in shock and pain, hands scratching at thin air. It shook as it looked down at the energy sword that had stabbed through its waist. The blade sizzled as it was roughly yanked out, then stabbed into it again.

And again.

And again.

And one more time.

Then a final stabbing for good measure.

The Covie wobbled around at this point, more dead than alive. Samantha dropped her stolen sword and dug her fingers into the bloody wounds, then pulled in two different directions. The sounds of flesh tearing and bones breaking filled the air. Then came sweet, sweet release. Of course, by that I mean Sam ripped the alien in two, the torso flying from the lower portion of the body, their only connection being strands of purple blood that formed webs over each other…

_Sam [Hates: Brutes, pink Likes: Sharp objects, murder]_

…and covered her in a bath fit for a psychopath.

Er, I mean warrior.

A psychotic warrior.

She blinked, and it was over. She turned and caught a glance of the Major's own fight. She was masterfully avoiding all of her foe's attacks, but she just couldn't get a chance to fire her weapon. Sam had just the thing to help her. "Hey, Major!" she said a moment later. "Catch!" The Major stopped what she was doing—a very bad idea in the middle of combat—and caught the energy sword hilt that had been thrown her way. It crackled to life just in time to block a downward slash from her opposition.

Lucky her.

The Major jumped back, then rushed forwards, delivering quick slashes and occasional jabs. Sparks flew with each blocked strike, dancing before their eyes before disappearing altogether. This stalemate lasted only until a new challenger appeared. She heard it, too.

The Spartan kicked the first Elite back and turned to the second attacker with the plasma blade held out in front of her, prompting her new foe to block while Spec-Ops number one retreated. Spec-Ops number two wasn't too keen on being locked in a stalemate like its leader, so while one hand kept its weapon up, the other snaked behind its back for the ultimate tie-breaking tool.

A plasma grenade.

The explosive device was primed and dropped. Hilarity ensued. The moment the Major laid eyes on it she pulled back her attack, giving the Elite a chance to do one of those Sangheili combat-rolls they always do. Always. It rolled to safety. The Spartan wasn't as lucky. She spun on her heels and the grenade was halfway to detonation. She took a step, and it exploded.

Hilarious, amirite?

The dazzling bright blue detonation kicked up the surrounding grass and soil, scorching the earth (although technically it would be "the reach") and sending the III flying—amirite?—several feet into the air before crashing three yards away. The Spec-Ops saw this with satisfaction; its mandibles twisting into the equivalent of a smile, which almost immediately afterwards drooped in disappointment as the Spartan started to get up from her spot on the ground.

She took a knee and looked down at her hands as orange/yellow streaks flexed, coiled, and danced around on them. "Hey! I'm still alive!" She returned her gaze to the Elite that had blasted her away.

It was aiming a plasma rifle at her.

The Spartan did a quick search for her weapons—them having flown off in the explosion—and spotted her energy sword quite a few ways away to her left. She shot to her feet and ran as the first few balls of plasma were fired. Black marks trailed behind her as she quickened her pace to escape from the blue bolts.

When she was just a few feet away from the weapon she dove for it, grabbing the sword and rolling to take the impact. It ended with her crouched and facing the Elite that was too busy tending to its overheated rifle. She brought her arm back, then threw the hilt, activating the sword mid-swing.

The weapon materialized as it flew and spun end over end, aimed for the Sangheili warrior. The blade cut through the armor, skin, and tissue protecting, on, and in (respectively) its shoulder. The plasma rifle flew out of its hand, and just as it registered the pain, the Major was standing before it, shoving the plasma blade further into its shoulder. It roared and snapped its mandibles at her, useful arm coming up to attack. She kicked the hinge-headed alien off her sword, leaning back to avoid losing her head to its two-pronged blade, and came back up with her fist shooting out, catching it on its mandibles and forcing it to stumble back. The elbow room was much appreciated, using it to her advantage to slit its knee and force it to kneel.

Despite its wounds, the alien didn't let up, and thrust its weapon forward, which the Major twisted to avoid while her own white-blue blade traveled up in an arc.

Can you tell I ran out of synonyms for sword?

The Spec-Ops—and Elite?—stayed still for a moment, gaping at the bloody stump where its hand used to be. A pint of blood had gushed out before it regained its senses, and by then it had been run through by the Major's energy sword. She let go of the hilt and allowed the Elite to fall back, bleeding freely.

The Major took a deep breath, let it out, and turned to her team. Sam and Sergei were scanning the area, making sure that there were no additional surprises waiting to burst out. They relaxed soon enough and formed up on Zulu-One, and were joined by Rick and Recon.

"So we're ba—whoa! What happened to you?" Rick said when he got there.

The Major immediately looked down at herself, and wasn't all that surprised to find most of the right side and back of her armor was scorched black. "Oh, yeah. That. I blew up," she said nonchalantly. Before he could ask how, she cut him off. "Sooo did you find anything?"

"Huh? Oh, no. There's nothing left in there but broken, unsalvageable tech and a few corpses, all badly burned. These are yours, by the way." Rick handed her weapons over to her. "Found them on the roof."

"Thanks. So what _were _you able to find out?"

"Well…"

"Aw great," Sam said aloud. "C'mon Recon. Rick has a theory." She walked off in some random direction, and Recon followed.

"When you compare the number of deceased personnel with the size of the building and its layout, it's safe to infer that most of the civvies of this building managed to escape. Because of the extensive burn damage, however, I couldn't get an ID on any of them. If we could find just on employee, I could—"

Spec-Ops number one appeared behind the Major from seemingly out of nowhere, grabbing her and spinning her around to face it. Her hand shot to her magnum, but it beat her to the punch. It swung up with such force that it knocked her off her feet; the sword left a long, neat line going from the bottom right of her chest piece to the top left of her helmet. She crashed and tumbled six feet away. Rick and Sergei had the Elite in their crosshairs, and Recon and Sam were back, weapons drawn. By then the Major had been yanked off the ground by the throat, being held like a ragdoll. The glow from Spec-Ops number one's energy sword was reflected off her visor as it was inched forward, little by little.

"Don't you fucking dare…" Sam spat, finger close to squeezing the trigger of her assault rifle.

The Elite heard this and disregarded it, its blade now piercing her shields, which glowed brightly with each passing second until; finally, they gave out and burst. Zulu Team tensed up at the sound.

It growled as it brought its arm back.

Fingers tensed on triggers.

But before all hell could break loose, three words were spoken.

"Hey, split-chin…" The Elite brought its attention back to its captive. Something poked it under the ribs. "Surprise." It dropped her. She fired.

The shotgun blast was enough to send Spec-Ops number one flying away on wings of shotgun pellets, blood, guts, and gore, and land on a bed of grass that would serve as its final resting place. A rest full of agony that would last the next thirty seconds, mind you, so…not much of a rest.

The Major landed on her hands and knees, head bowed down as she tried to catch her breath. Her helmet fell off, as its seals had been badly damaged sometime during the fight, and it rolled over to face her. She stared at her reflection in the scratched up visor, but what stared back was a bloodthirsty, wide-eyed woman with a manic grin. Thankfully, her hair fell over her face, hiding the view from her team.

She stood back up and composed herself, then walked to the incapacitated Elite, cocking the M45…

_The Major [When it Shotgun Rains, it pours]_

…and managed to give a friendly smile to the soon-to-be dead creature. Placing her foot on its chest, she aimed at its pained face.

"Something witty," she said after much internal debate, and fired.

The pellets violently knocked its head back, tearing off chunks of flesh and bone. Blood pooled around its body.

Tasty.

The Major took another deep breath, but didn't turn around for a while.

"Uh, Major?" Sam interrupted her thoughts. "You okay?"

"Huh?" She turned around. "Oh, yeah. I'm fine. So, about the personnel of this building…" She pointed at the hill of debris. "There's a man—his corpse, at least—somewhere around there. He's bound to have some sort of ID on him."

Rick looked at her, then at the hill, then looked back at her. He threw his hands up in an exasperated fashion and walked off, muttering something about how he was always the one that had to sift through dead guys' pockets.

The Major looked at the alien bodies that littered the ground. "So, the Covenant are on Reach." She thought about that for a second. "Strange. I thought we'd have another thirty-seven days before the shit hit that fan."

Recon cocked his head to the side in a way that seemed to say _That's a bit specific, don't you think?_

The Major shrugged. "Maybe." Then she got to thinking. "Well, I wonder who else knows about this."

Meanwhile, a mere seventeen miles away, an alligator almost bit Noble Six's face off.

* * *

[**July 24, 2552**

**1252 hours**

**Base Zulu**

**Planet Reach…**]

Director Garrison let out a long sigh and slumped back in his chair. "I saw this coming. The Covenant, I mean."

"Uh-huh," the Major said uninterestedly.

"I bet the rest of ONI will want to keep this under wraps."

"Yup."

"I wonder how long we'll hold out until we need to retreat. Again."

"That sucks."

"We're losing ground. Pretty soon they'll wipe us out, and humanity will be nothing more than a memory."

"'Tis a shame."

"We're gonna need a—"

The Major kicked the oak desk to shut him up, and it worked, but he was otherwise unfazed. The Major, however, had just kicked an oak desk.

A _sturdy _oak desk.

She had kicked it hard.

And she was wearing sneakers.

Needless to say, it hurt quite a bit.

She wrenched her foot back and tried to rub her big toe through her shoe. The Director did his best not to smile. "Yes? You have my attention."

She sniffled, then took out her helmet and presented it to him. "Do you see what's wrong with this picture?" The Director took a look, but didn't get to answer. "I need a new one. Actually, I think I'll need to add some stuff to my armor."

"'Stuff'? You mean the accessories for your set of MJOLNIR armor that we're already trying to repair again? The accessories we needed to get for you and your team because we saw circumstances such as this happening over and over and over again?"

"Yeah!" she replied a little too enthusiastically.

Director Garrison shook his head. "How are you still alive?"

The Major's hands shot up above her head to punctuate her words: "I have no idea!"

The Director just sighed again and picked up the ID card that she had provided him with. It contained all of the insane man's information—a Dr. Jason Strant—except for the name of whatever company or organization he worked for. He waved her away. "Fine. You can leave now."

The Major shot to her feet with her helmet in hand before leaving the office. He watched her go out the door, then took out a flask from somewhere in his desk and took one long swig from it. It contained nothing more than some strange-tasting herbal tea, but he used it as a placebo to drown the brain tumor that eight years of being Zulu Team's handler undoubtedly gave him.

"One of these days," he slurred, "I'll go on a vacation."

* * *

Corporal Alexandria Corruo sat behind a counter, bored out of her wits and playing _Tetris_ on the computer in front of her. The endless loop of Russian music echoed throughout the armory and in her head.

_Dun dununun dununun dununun dununun, dun nun nun nun nun nun, du nunun…_

Her eyelids drooped, her boredom serving as a great incentive for her to sleep. Soon enough, her hands slipped off the keyboard and the blocks came down in an unrelenting shower of geometric shapes. She lost with a score of 115,187,999,343.

What?

Right as she was about to slip off into blissful unconsciousness, the automatic door leading into the armory opened and an all too familiar woman stepped in. "I'm here to waste ONI's funds!" she announced.

The corporal jumped out of her chair in surprise and ended up behind the counter, magnum drawn. She stayed in cover for well over a minute, confused as to what was going on. With her finger hovering over the trigger, her head gradually tilted up, little by little, until she was face-to-face with the Major, who was leaning over the counter and looking down at her curiously.

"Uh, hey Blondie. You okay?"

Alex relaxed and stood up, placing her sidearm back in its hip holster. "Oh, it's only you."

"Well, yeah, it's me. Hi, er…whatever-your-name-is."

"You don't remember me?" Alex looked somewhat disappointed.

"Hmm…" The Major looked off in some random direction, trying to remember the woman. Alex looked at her with a hopeful glint in her eyes. "Nope. Don't know who you are."

Alex deflated a bit. "Oh, okay. I guess I should've expected that." When she looked back up the Major was nowhere to be seen, but there was a door open. The one labeled "Armor".

She followed.

The actual "armor" part of the armory was a single hallway, wide and long. Either side was stacked with different sets of MJOLNIR armor and their necessary components, and by each piece there hung a touch-pad used to request the acquisition of such expensive technology. The entire thing was a multitrillion credit investment.

Alex approached the super-soldier, who was studying a set of shoulder pads described as being for MJOLNIR Mk. V. She pressed her thumb against the touch-pad at its side and thus the MJOLNIR Mk. V shoulder pads were hers.

Give her a week and she'll probably be back to replace them.

"So, you guys checked out some sort of abandoned complex?" Alex said as if she were making small talk rather than delving into classified information.

The Major kept a wary eye on the corporal as she took a look at the chest pieces. "Yeah. Right. I really don't know if I should be talking about this." She pressed her thumb against the Collar/Breacher's touch pad. "Then again, I don't really care."

Alex watched her look over a wrist piece by the name of Assault/Breacher. She got that, too. "Makes me wonder," the Major continued, "why ONI is interested. They wouldn't have sent us in there unless it was very important. Ooh, knee pads."

+1 set of Grenadier knee pads acquired.

"Well… what did you find?" Alex asked a bit cautiously.

"Nothing—look, why do you care?"

"To be honest, it's not the mission I'm interested in…" She held her hands behind her back and looked down at her feet, fidgeting a bit.

When she looked back up she noticed that the only other person in the armory wasn't paying any attention to her, and had also moved further into the room to search for an additional pouch for her armor. Alex didn't know whether to breathe a sigh of relief, or punch her in the face.

The Major took her eyes off the Tactical/Softcase she was looking at and turned to her. "Did you say something, Blondie?"

Alex decided she'd opt for the latter. "I have a name, you know," she said matter-of-factly.

"Yeah, I know you do. I just don't know it, Blondie."

Corporal Corruo pinched the bridge of her nose. "Stop calling me that. The name's Alexandria Corruo."

"Alexandria? Like the city?"

"Not like the city!" the corporal screamed. The Major flinched. Alex took a deep breath. "Sorry. I've just been hearing that my whole life."

The Spartan slowly stepped away.

"Okay. Sure. This just got awkward. I guess I'll just take this pouch, get myself a helmet, and then I'll be out of your hair."

"But I—" Alex stopped herself, which took a great deal of effort; a lot more than should have been necessary. "Fine. Just know that there really was no problem with…"

The Major wasn't listening. She was too busy looking at her soon-to-be helmet.

Corporal Alexandria Corruo walked back to her counter, seething.

The MJOLNIR Mk. VI helmet sat on a podium at the end of the armor-y. The hall got darker as it went, and a single light shone on the headgear, giving it the illusion of elegance when, in fact, it'd soon be covered in alien blood and guts.

The Major took the helmet from its stand and turned it over in her hands, and a single scrap of folded up paper fell out. She picked it up and unfolded it. It read:

_Dear Major,_

_ If you are reading this, then you've obviously taken an interest in this gem. I shouldn't be too surprised, considering your general interest in shiny things. Keep in mind that at this point, this is only a field test, so actually try not to lose the helmet or, worse, get it destroyed. We only have the one._

_ Sincerely,_

_You-know-who_

The Major set it back on the podium and stuffed the note into her pocket, then turned her attention to the touch-pad. This one was slightly different, as it had an additional screen after the confirmation screen:

_Attachments:_

_ [DEFAULT]_

_ FC-1[2]_

_ UA/HUL-I_

After carefully considering her options—and by that I mean she stared at the screen for the better part of a minute—she chose the UA/HUL-I attachment, then stood back, satisfied. _Feels good to try something new, _she thought to herself. _And if all goes well, I won't have to come back for at _least _a week. Sweet! I've got it all figured out._

_ No you don't, idiot, _said another part of her brain._ I'd say that I hope you're ready to see your friends die, but I can't lie to you. I really love it when something surprises you. You're so cute when you're shocked._

_ Oh hi, RooMiE. Haven't heard from you in a while._

_ That's because I didn't want you to expect me, babe._

_ So why are you here, exactly?_

_ Aww. When you put it like that, it sounds like you want to get rid of me._

_ …_

_ Well, I'll try not to get offended. I just thought you were a bit too happy. I guess I'll leave you alone now. Love you…_

When the Major snapped out of her mania-induced stupor, she realized that she'd made it to the door leading out of the armory. Behind her, Alex was banging her head against the keyboard, muttering something to herself. The Major hurriedly stepped out, bumping into a man considerably taller than her in her haste. He stumbled and almost tripped, but righted himself and kept walking. She immediately identified him as a Spartan.

_But why would… _She face-palmed. _Of course! _

_ "_It's orientation day!"she said aloud, getting a few odd looks from random passersby. The man kept walking, so she followed.

Upon seeing the odd woman that practically skipped around next to him, the Spartan tried to disregard her. It wasn't easy.

"Hey—" she nudged him, "—what are you up to?"

The man narrowed his eyes at her. "Meeting my team," he said bluntly, hoping that would get her to go away. It didn't.

"Cool. I happen to know a team of Spartans. In fact, I know the leader on a personal level. We're pretty close." The Major crossed her fingers to make her point.

"Yeah, that's great and all, but why—wait a minute." He thought about that. "How do you know about…? Never mind; I don't have time for this." The new Spartan kept walking.

The Major frowned and kept following.

"Do you even know where you're going?" she asked after several minutes of aimless wondering.

"Er, yeah. Yes, I do," he said rather unconvincingly.

The Major arched an eyebrow. "Do you? Do you _really?_ "

The man looked at her sheepishly. "No."

"Then it seems like you need my assistance."

The man looked at her with mild irritation. "Look. It's great that you want to help and all, but I doubt that you don't even know what you're talking about. So, Marine, if you will…"

"Marine?!" The Major was somewhat displeased.

"What? Are you Army?"

"_Army?!" _The Major gave herself a once-over. "Come on! I'm a good 5'8''! That's not too bad for a Spartan…" she looked up at him with big, hopeful eyes, "…right?"

He only looked at her, utterly lost.

The Major leaned back on the nearest wall and allowed herself to slide down. "I'm short," she admitted to herself. "Why couldn't I have just been granted a few extra inches?"

The moping woman confused the man, and just being near her made him feel uncomfortable. She seemed to have some sort of aura of crazy about her; something that set him on edge and made him feel like standing too close to her was a bad idea. He did it anyway.

"Uh, hey," he said and crouched down in front of her. "Are you all right?" He reached his hand out to help her up. He'd only known her for seven minutes and he'd already made his third mistake.

He had given her something to grab on to.

_Eh, maybe this wasn't such a good— _

He was pulled down before he could finish his thought.

He blinked, and suddenly he found himself flat on his front, left arm twisted behind his back, right one held in the air by his wrist. Her knee dug into his back.

"No, I'm not all right, asshole! You mistook me for a Marine!" She twisted his wrist. He winced.

"Oh, damn…you're a Spartan!"

"No shit."

"Ah, s—sorry. I was just expecting someone a bit…"

"Do you value the use of your arms, guy?"

"The name's Michael. And yes, I do."

"Then I suggest you cut that sentence short."

He did. "Can you get off me now?"

The Major had settled down a little, but her grip had not relaxed. "I dunno. The voice in my head is telling me to break something—anything—of yours."

Michael gave out a little nervous laugh. "That's funny. Ha-ha. A voice in your head. Can you _please _get off me?"

The Major made a show of thinking about it, but she eventually got up and helped him get to his feet.

"Thanks for that. So, uh, who are you?"

"Me?" She took a single step back, grinning and sweeping her hands out in front of her. "I'm the Major: Co-pilot to my dear Samantha, expert in close-quarters combat, leader of Zulu Team, and resident badass."

"You sure put yourself on a high pedestal."

"On the contrary, I don't think I give myself enough credit."

"Oh? And why's that?"

"I'm actually a _master _of CQC."

"Hey, do you hear that?" Michael looked around as if searching for something. "I think I hear them adding another layer to your pedestal."

The Major mimicked his actions. "Huh. I don't know what you're talking about. I think you're referring to your girlish scream's echoes."

"That was _not_ a girlish scream."

"Right, it was just the scream of a little prepubescent boy."

"Who are you to call anyone little?"

"The girl that just kicked your ass. Hey, how ya doing?"

"Uh…yeah. That you did." Michael quickly changed the subject. "So, Major. Why 'Major'?"

"Oh, that?" She smiled at the memory of how she got the nickname.

"_That'll be all," Director Garrison said, looking over his paperwork. "You can go now, Major."_

"'_Major'?"_

"_Yes, as in 'Major-Pain-in-the-Ass'."_

"_Hm. I like the sound of that."_

"Just 'cuz."

"'Just 'cuz'?" he repeated.

"Yup. That's all there is to it. Enough about me, though; let's talk about you, and how you're under my command now."

Michael looked worried. "I don't like the sound of that."

"Oh, Rookie." She placed a calming hand on his shoulder. "You really, really shouldn't."

_Oh Major, he has absolutely no idea what he's gotten himself into…_

* * *

**Easter egg count: 5**

**-One for a class in a (very popular) class-based FPS.**

**-One for a particularly awesome anarchist from one of last year's best first-person shooters.**

**-One for a not-so-great first-person shooter from last year.**

**-And two lines taken straight from a fan-based parody. Vampires are involved. (They don't sparkle).**

**Line from the next chapter:**

**"C'mon, Inso, let's go greet the lovely young lady."**


	3. High Above the World

Chapter 3: Meet the Team

**[July 24, 2552**

**1429 hours**

**Base Zulu**

**Planet Reach…]**

Base Zulu's rec room was not a very spacious room. It could hold fifteen people without getting crowded, but not much more than that. Then again, there's not much use for a recreational room during a time of war. Or maybe a rec room sees more use _during _a time of war. Eh, who knows?

Michael sat on the carpeted half of the room, his back to the massive plasma screen TV he wished he were watching, sitting on the comfortable-looking sofa. Instead, he was staring at a datapad, an image of a woman on display. She was leaning on a counter, chin resting on her hand, glass of red wine in her other hand, sooty-black eyes looking at something off in the corner—out of view from the camera. Her hair matched her eyes in that it was also black. It reached down to just barely touch her shoulders, and a few rebellious strands fell over her forehead. A few scars marked her soft facial features, but nothing _too _bad. The longest one ran from the corner of her right eye to her small nose. What really stood out, though, was the white, jagged scar on her throat that almost seemed to stretch from ear to ear. It served as a stark contrast to her olive skin.

All in all, Michael couldn't say she seemed like the leader type to him. At least, not the by-the-books kind chosen to lead a group of humanity's elite warriors into battle. Not even the kind to be willing to follow the simplest orders without question. No, she seemed to have landed in that position either by pure luck, or inconvenience. That just depends on how you look at it.

Now if only he could remember her name.

His brow furrowed in concentration as he racked his brain for an answer, but the only thing he could remember about her was that she had probably been a ninja in a past life. His arms actually felt _worse_ than when she had them twisted behind his back.

"Sam," he answered, feeling sure of himself.

Rick watched him from his seat on a recliner. He seemed unimpressed. "Really? Is that your final answer?"

Michael looked back at the image, then turned to Rick. "Yes, I'm sure."

Rick sighed. "Wrong. That's the Major. I thought you'd remember her after what she did to you."

"Well, I'm bad with names," he explained.

"I don't think you'll have much trouble remembering her, though." Rick took his datapad back. "She's quite the character."

Michael looked out of the glass panel wall separating the rec room from the comparatively large mess hall, the subject of their conversation sitting across from a Marine. A chess table was set up between them, but it was obvious that the Major was not even vaguely interested in the game. She seemed to be too busy with her drunken ramblings. The Marine seemed indifferent.

Michael got off the floor and took a seat next to Rick. "Enough with these quizzes. What's your guys' story?"

"Our story?"

"Yeah, how'd you get here?"

"That is a question that has both a simple answer, and is a matter of human biology."

Michael looked at him, perplexed.

Rick continued. "You see, the short answer is that when a mommy and daddy like each other very much—"

"That's not what I meant."

"Well, if you want to know how we got _here_, that's easy—Slipspace."

"Enough with the smartass-ery!

"Oh? I thought I was answering your question."

Michael rubbed his temple. "None of you are going to make this easy for me, are you?"

"No, Rookie, we won't. But in all seriousness, we ended up in this situation because of the Major, really. I don't know if I should thank her or strangle her for that."

"What do you mean? How'd she get you here?"

"It all goes back to our training days at Onyx. She was a crazy one even then, the difference being that she used to have _some _control over her impulses. Or, at least, that's what I noticed whenever I saw her. She was—and still is—uncontrollable, unpredictable, and a threat to anyone in the immediate vicinity." Rick chuckled. "I guess you'll see why she's such good friends with Sam. Because of these qualities, she attracted the attention of some ONI spooks, who I'm pretty sure took note of every little thing she did from then on out. I'm guessing they decided to search for anyone else who could match, or even surpass, her…uniqueness. That's how they found Sam."

"Who I've yet to meet."

"Ah, that's right, you haven't met her yet. Or Sergei, for that matter. We'll have to introduce you later." The engineer took a moment to think about that. "But we shouldn't have them both in the same room when we do."

Michael looked confused. "Why not?"

"Because I like a standing, intact Zulu Base. Call me crazy. So where was I?"

"You were talking about some spooks finding Sam."

"Oh, right. They searched through all of Alpha Company and found Sam. I think their original intention was to root out possible wash-outs and get rid of them before they could become a problem. They must have reconsidered, seeing an opportunity in these two defunct super-soldiers. But two people does not a team make, so they looked for more possible candidates. Sergei was next. He isn't as bad as they are, but he's not completely stable either."

Michael took a moment to take all this information in. "And then there's you and Recon. Speaking of him, who names their son 'Recon'?"

"Someone has a daughter named Scout, and do you know where she is?"

Michael shook his head no.

"In a piece of classic literature, but I digress." Rick looked out into the mess hall before continuing. "That's not his real name—he just never talks, so we had to come up with something to call him."

"And his armor variant was the best you could come up with?" Michael chuckled.

"Would you have preferred us to come up with something convoluted, like 'He Who Diminishes His Foes' Numbers With the Use of A High-Powered Rifle'? Or how about 'Beacon Light Sanity Dove Way'?" Rick thought about that. "Now that I think of it, that first name isn't too bad. Maybe I should start narrating everything and describe what everyone's wearing in explicit detail."

Little did Rick know, but that joke would have made more sense if he had opted for the latter name.

"I understand what you're saying, but still," Michael persisted. "You could've gone with something else."

"Hey, he hasn't complained so far."

"That's because he never talks. Or shows his face, for that matter."

"I don't know why, but the fact that he never shows us his face makes me think that he probably has an amazing voice." Rick shrugged. "But we're getting off topic."

"Yeah, but that's what makes this so fun!"

Rick disregarded him. "Anyways, I can only guess that the reason I got sucked into all of this is because every team needs that one reliable guy. I can't say I can complain though. I'm not dead yet, and I like this team a lot." He looked out of the glass wall again, something having caught his eye.

Two men—one taller and broader-shouldered than the other—had approached the Major's table. Rick was instantly on alert, not because they seemed to be causing trouble, but because the Semi-Powered Infiltration armor they wore suggested they were Threes. But Threes? _Here?_ Highly unlikely. Unless…

_Headhunters_, Rick realized.

"Well, things just got a lot more interesting."

"What do you mean?" Michael asked,

Rick focused on him again. "What? Oh, nothing. So, to wrap up the rest of the story: Sergei, Sam, the Major and I ended up getting pulled out shortly after our Spartan graduation and stuck in cryo aboard the UNSC _Jack of all Trades. _Well, not all at once. The Major was first, and as such was frozen for seven years."

"Why is that?"

"What? The fact that she was stuck in a tube for that long?"

Michael nodded.

"I'm not exactly sure why, but she wasn't in the best of health during our last few month on Onyx. She seemed pale, weak, and always unsteady on her feet, like she was always dizzy and ready to fall down." He allowed himself a knowing smile that was half parts grim, half parts amused. "I thought she was going to die."

They stayed in silence for no more than half a minute, the only sounds being their steady breathing and the muffled sounds from the mess hall. Michael was the one to break it.

"If she was really as sick as you described, then how did she recover?"

Rick sighed. "Honestly, Rookie, I wish I knew. As soon as she was taken out of cryo, she was whisked away to who-knows-where. They returned her to us a few days later, healthy." He gripped the edge of his seat. "And that's what bugs me."

Michael didn't quite follow. "It bugs you that she was saved?"

"No. It bugs me that I don't know _how_ she was saved. Ever since the beginning…ever since we were revived, really. There has been so much kept from us. Sam, Sergei and I spent the first three years on that ship helping with repairs and upgrades. Then, suddenly, we're told we're to spend the remainder of our time aboard in cryo. Recon himself came out of nowhere. The day we stepped out of our tubes was the first time we had ever so much as seen him. Nobody told us who he was or where he came from." Rick thought about the day's earlier events, and the facility they had encountered. "And the secrets just keep piling on."

"Well it is ONI. What did you expect? They don't exactly strike anyone who's ever lived—ever—as the honest type."

"But that's not the point though. It's not too hard for me to find out what ONI is keeping from us; I don't even bother calling them 'secrets.' But these are just some of the things they've been hell-bent on keeping under wraps. These are the things that have been gnawing at me for eight years."

"Do you want my opinion?" Michael asked immediately after he was finished.

"Sure."

"Don't break your brain over this. You can't expect to have all the answers. If anything, you should be glad you got to spend four years of this war sleeping."

Rick smiled a bit, the mood lightening up. "Yeah, but it still bothers me. I mean, that facility we investigated earlier had to have been abandoned for years, yet ONI sends us there _now? _What's the deal? And we even found a survivor—where did he even come from?"

"All in due time, Rick," Michael said as if he knew something, which he didn't. Then his eyes wandered to the table the Major had been sitting at.

"Uh, Rick…should I be worrying about the fact that the Major is nowhere to be seen?"

If Zulu-Three had been drinking something, he'd have done a spit-take right then and there. He settled for choking on his saliva. "Yes, Mike…we should be very afraid." He got to his feet and headed for the door, motioning for Michael to follow, which he did.

Out in the mess hall, Martin the Marine—the trooper who had been playing chess with the Major—was waiting for them, waving a piece of paper over his head.

"You're Rick, right?" asked Martin the Marine.

"Yeah," Rick replied cautiously.

"Well, here,"—he handed the paper over—"this is for you."

Rick gave it a quick read.

_Heeey buddy…how ya doing? That's good to hear. If you're reading this, then that means Martin did his job, and I owe him some animal crackers. Actually, he said I owe him some credits, but he's getting animal crackers. Anyway, by the time you read this, I'll be down in the training arena, decked out in that SPI armor I hoped I'd never have to use again. Bleh. But you know I can't resist a fight. You and Michael are welcome to watch; I'm expecting a crowd anyway, seeing as how easily excitable everyone is around here._

"Y'know, the Major is surprisingly articulate for someone who just finished drinking as much as she did," Michael said, having read the note over Rick's shoulder.

Rick shook his head and put the paper away. "This is what I was afraid of. C'mon Rookie, we need to go see this…"

* * *

_A few minutes prior…_

Murdoch and Inso walked through the double-doors leading into the mess hall, eyes behind their visors taking stock. Inso tapped Murdoch's shoulder to get his attention, then pointed at someone and growled something that only his partner could understand. Murdoch took a look, then typed something into his tacpad and a picture appeared and took up half the space on his HUD. He looked at the picture and then studied the woman sitting at the table before allowing himself a smile.

A perfect match.

"C'mon, Inso, let's go greet the lovely young lady."

The Major looked at the chess board with a sort of concentration one could only attain after drinking enough alcohol, and her hand hovered over the pieces as if she were going to make a move. She picked up a rook, but instead of moving it to a spot on the board, she flicked it at Martin the Marine. It hit him in the eye.

"King me," she said.

"Wh-what? I'm not going to king you!"

She flicked another piece at his eye. "King me," she persisted.

"Do you even know how to play the game?"

"No," she admitted.

"Then why would you offer to play?"

"I dunno." The Major rolled the king around on the table. "I guess it was on a whim?"

Martin rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Doesn't really matter anyway; I'm not going to king you."

"Fine," she huffed, "so I guess my next move will be king to e-_your face!_"

She flicked the piece at him, this time catching him in the forehead. His eye twitched in irritation. Before anything could come of it, Murdoch and Inso approached their table, casting their tall shadows over the competing pair. The Major was the first to look up and speak.

"Can I—hic!—help you?"

Murdoch didn't have to smell the alcohol on her breath to realize she was drunk. "Uh…yeah. I suppose you could help us out, but you don't seem to have your wits about you…"

…_But at the same time, it could make this much easier, _he rationalized.

"I can still help; it just depends on what you need, guy."

"Are you sure?" Murdoch didn't feel like she would be able to do what he was about to ask.

"Yeah, I'm sure. If I wasn't, I wouldn't be offering."

"If you say so, but we need someone to spar with. I doubt you'll be able to stay up with all the movement that'll require."

At the mention of an opportunity to fight, the Major's eyes gained a little twinkle. As whimsical as that sounds, this was nothing but a bad omen.

"A fight?"

"Actually, it's more like a friendly sparring ma—" Murdoch began, but was cut off by the commotion caused when the Major jumped out of her seat.

She suddenly seemed…sober.

"Sure, I'll fight you."

"Great, but I'm still having doubts about—"

"Hey, don't worry about me. You two just worry about making it out of there in one piece."

Murdoch was almost surprised by her brashness. "All right. Okay. If you're so sure you'll win, then let's do it."

A small grin played across her face. "Yeah. This should be fun." She turned around to address Martin. "Do you have a pen and paper?"

Surprisingly, he did.

The Major took the materials and set the paper down on the chess board. She tapped the pen to her bottom lip. "Hmm, let's see…_'Heeey buddy…'_"

* * *

Sergei watched the Headhunters from what the personnel on base affectionately called "The Skybox." This was because it was elevated off the ground, with its large glass panel facing the training arena, giving a perfect view of the largest room on base. Keeping in mind that Base Zulu's main purpose was to house a team of rather troublesome Spartans, the military engineers in charge of refurbishing the hotel added a massive training room with a constantly changing environment. Even now, several columns that reached from the ground to the ceiling were returning to their natural positions underneath the floor.

"Hey, big guy!"

The towering Russian turned at the sound of Rick's voice. It was easy enough to find him and Michael amidst the crowd. They had to push a bit to finally reach him.

Rick looked at the Headhunter pair through the glass panel as they stood in the middle of the room, surveying their surroundings.

_Even more questions without answers,_ Rick thought. Although he seemed calm on the outside, anxiety was tugging at his heart.

He set the feeling and his questions aside and then turned to Sergei. "How did you hear about this?"

"I heard about fight when little Army men started to talk about a 'friendly sparring match.'" Sergei kept his eyes on the Headhunters—his expression neutral. "It won't be friendly."

"So I take it the Major isn't too keen on having a slow-paced practice session," Michael concluded.

"Exactly," Rick confirmed. "If we're lucky, they'll put up a good enough fight to survive. If we're luckier, they'll win."

"Whoa, wait a minute! What do you mean by 'if we're lucky, they'll survive'?"

"Exactly what it sounds like, Rookie." Rick sounded surprisingly calm.

"So that bit about her being a threat to anyone in the immediate vicinity wasn't an exaggeration?"

"Nope."

Michael joined them in staring at the Headhunters down below. What Rick had said made him extremely uneasy, to say the least. The possibility of his new team leader murdering these two in what was supposed to be nothing more than a spar…How could he follow someone like that? But then again, these were battle-hardened men—super-soldiers of humanity. They were more than capable of defending themselves.

_But Rick made it sound like they already have no chance. And he does know what she's capable of…_

Down in the training arena, a large door slid apart slowly, each second full of tension as everyone in the Skybox got a little closer to the glass panel. The Major stepped out in standard SPI armor, looked the room over, and then walked to meet the men in the middle. Each footstep echoed throughout the cavernous room, serving to heighten the quiet anxiety from the audience.

Michael caught himself in the silence that had fallen over the booth, realizing that at this point all he could do was sit back and watch.

* * *

Murdoch studied the Major as she made her way to them. Each step seemed to be deliberately slow, but not unnaturally so. She seemed to be relishing the noticeable anticipation that built up in the crowd.

_Little minx. Matches the description. _Murdoch stored that mental note in one of the deepest recesses of his brain to be retrieved later. _All right then. This should be interesting._

The Major stopped two meters away from them, and their world was quiet.

"I've never seen anyone use the Drunken Boxing style," Murdoch said, speaking up for the sake of having some noise. "Should be interesting."

He could only imagine the grin on her face right now. "Oh, you'd be surprised…" the Major said, "…I sober up quickly."

"Good to know this won't be so easy, then." Murdoch looked at their audience. "They seem pretty anxious to see this fight get underway."

"It's not a fiii-iiight," she singsonged.

"But…you're the one who kept calling it a fight…"

"Good word, sir! Are you perchance calling me a liar?" she said with her best Victorian-era accent.

"O-kay?"

"Yes. Thou darest to slander my good name? Or something."

"I have no idea what you're doing—"

"Lies!"

Murdoch sighed and rolled his eyes like a [Insert blatant stereotype here]. "Okay, fine. Screw it. Inso—sic her."

Inso was a blur of movement as he rushed her with surprising speed.

"Oh shit." The Major took a step back.

Inso's attacks were quick, powerful jabs that lacked finesse; the Major dodged them with agility and ease. The only attacks she delivered were those she used to redirect his blows, effectively using his own power against him.

They moved as they fought: her backwards, him forwards. The added movement just gave Inso something else to focus on, detracting from his concentration on the Major.

Which was exactly what she was counting on. Now all she needed to do was keep up her defense and wait for an opportunity to counterattack.

_There!_ A break in his attack pattern: his usual jabs were replaced by a right hook. The Major's hand shot out and caught his attacking limb at the bend. Her free hand struck three times in quick succession: an uppercut to the armpit, a palm strike to his chest, and a spear-hand strike to the throat. Inso took two unmeasured, clumsy steps back and made the terrible mistake of blinking. The Major spun on one foot and kicked out high with the other. She caught him under the chin and knocked him off his feet.

Not a second had passed before Murdoch (literally) jumped into the fray, his knee out to strike. The Major blocked and stepped back. They wasted no time at all in getting back into the fight. Murdoch was much more precise, yet slower than Inso, and his attacks carried less weight behind them. The Major noted this as she deflected one of his blows.

_Should be easier to block._

Murdoch kicked out at waist level—the Major took the hit. Her arm wrapped around his leg faster than he could recover, and pain lanced through his body as she brought her fist down on his knee. She was faster than he could have ever expected, and never saw her foot hook behind his ankle.

She pulled and he fell over on his back. Murdoch expected her to wail on him, so he breathed a sigh of relief when she instead jumped away and backpedalled. Inso ran at her at full speed.

Murdoch got to his feet, the pain in his knee far from subsiding. _Shit, that hurts, _he couldn't help but think. He tried to run back into battle, but found that to be difficult when all he could do was hobble around on his bum leg. _Just ignore it…_

The ground underneath his feet suddenly started to change—rising into a pillar made of white, hexagonal tiles. This pillar rose to be about a quarter height of the training arena, which was still pretty high. Murdoch had to fight to keep himself steady and avoid falling off.

Speaking of fights, Inso and the Major fought atop a platform of the same elevation as his pillar. The only problem was it was too far for him to jump to; he wagered it was a good seven yards away from him. Conveniently enough, a bridge started to construct itself piece by piece after he took that measurement. Murdoch ran across and did his best not to attract the Major's attention. After all, he enjoyed having all his bones where they belonged.

Inso jumped and kicked at head level. The Major ducked and swept his legs out from under him.

_His movement is too stiff, _she thought as he went down. _Fast, sure. But he's just raw power. _She placed her foot on his chest. _Also: stiff. Heh-heh._

The she rolled him off the platform, sending him plunging to his doom.

"No!" Murdoch yelled feebly.

Another pillar rose past them at breakneck speed with Inso lying on top, making Murdoch's theatrics a bit unnecessary.

Murdoch then realized two things: 1) he'd been reaching out to try and help his partner, despite being too far to be able to do anything, and 2) the Major was looking right at him.

Murdoch soon found himself knocked off the bridge.

* * *

"Well, the bigger guy has stamina," Rick said, assessing how the fight was going. The end results he was getting varied greatly. "That's good. If they can't beat her on even ground then they can at least wear her down."

"Since when has a two-on-one fight been considered 'even ground'?" This came from a woman Michael had yet to meet.

So he turned around to meet her.

She was a woman of light complexion (and that's putting it mildly) whose round, hazel eyes set off alarm bells in his head the second he looked into them. Not the good kind, either. More like the ones that signal an incoming nuclear strike. Why this was, he had no idea (after all, he'd just met her). But he couldn't shake the feeling that he'd spotted a hint of malevolence right before she'd blinked.

Her disheveled, coppery hair spilled past her shoulder blades and seemed to sell the point that she was not one to be trifled with.

That is, if you want to reinforce stereotypes.

Rick turned away from the fight to address her properly. "Whenever the Major's that one person, it's usually a fair fight. You should know this, Sam."

_Sam… _Michael remembered Rick mentioning a Sam. _He kind of alluded to the idea that she's unstable._

A half-smirk peeled her straight lips as she looked him over. "So you're the new guy?"

Michael nodded slowly. "Yes, that's me. I'll be the medic for the team."

"Medic?" she asked earnestly.

"Uh…yeah. Medic."

Sam's smirk turned into a grin. She placed her hands underneath her chin and drummed her fingers together. "Excellent."

Michael stepped away and put Rick in between them.

"Oh, by the way, that's Sam," Rick said, finally speaking up. "She's our pilot, as well as our knife-wielding, homicidal psychopath."

Michael was surprised to see Sam wasn't the least bit insulted.

"Yep, that's me…" She withdrew her combat knife from the sheath strapped to her thigh, then licked along the (dangerously) sharp edge. "…Just a bit crazy."

Two thoughts crossed Michael's mind: _How did she do that and not cut her tongue? _And the less coherent, _HOLYFUCKINGSHITSHE'SGOINGTOKILLMEINMYSLEEP!_

It was then that he noticed the malevolence in her eyes again and came to a disturbing conclusion. That first time he'd seen it, it hadn't gone away.

It was always there.

* * *

The Major feigned left and went right instead, upper body twisting to dodge Inso's predictable jab and to deal a shovel hook to his ribs. Inso staggered back as he struggled to get some oxygen back into his lungs. The Major pressed what she thought was an advantage, but the reality was that her opponent was a resilient fellow.

She kicked straight, and her sole caught his side. Inso spun due to unsure footing, and his arm went wild. His fist caught the Major across the face, knocking her off balance and sending her to the edge of the platform. Her arms windmilled as she struggled to stay on. Inso steadied himself, then growled as he approached her.

_Crap,_ was all she could think at the moment.

Inso stepped closer, mimicking the way she'd entered the arena, only he was planning on returning the favor i.e. send her face-planting. He brought his arm back, fist clenched tightly in anger. Everything was still for a fraction if a second…and then he struck—

—another pillar raced up to tower over them, scraping against the Major's back in the process and sending her stumbling at Inso. She just managed to duck under his attacking arm, her fist connecting with his stomach. He doubled over while she rose behind him and drove her elbow into the small of his back. He fell, but the Major kicked him out of the air and sent him flying into Murdoch, who had just jumped onto their platform. A set of steps appeared behind the Major, so she took them down two at a time.

"I just can't catch a break today, can I?" said Murdoch as he pushed his partner off himself.

Murdoch stood up and flexed his shoulders. He grimaced as he felt a few things pop back into place. _Feels better than having my ass handed to me._

That fall must have done something to his head, because it took him too long to notice that a certain someone was missing. When he did notice, it hit him like a ton of rocks.

Murdoch's instincts told him, begged him even, to search for her frantically—to lose his shit. But he clamped down on those impulses and instead looked the room over with the cool professionalism of someone who'd done this before in a similar situation. What struck him wasn't a fist, or a foot, but the surprise of seeing the steps that hadn't been there before.

_Impressive room,_ he thought as he approached them. _Wouldn't mind using it again._

This set of steps ran down until it connected with a bridge made of the same white, hexagonal tiles that made up the entire arena. The Major was waiting for them on the opposite end, waving.

Consider Murdoch's jimmies, rustled.

"Inso, do you want to—?"

His partner didn't need to be prompted. Inso ran to the end of the platform and jumped. At this height a normal person would have broken quite a few bones upon landing, but for his armor and strong-as-f*ck skeleton, it was no problem.

His leap sent him clear over the steps and he landed on the bridge, knees bent and arms hanging limply in front of him. The sound of such an intense landing resonated throughout the arena. Inso stood at full (intimidating) height, shoulders rising and slumping with every loud breath. Murdoch immediately regretted sending him first.

Inso took off at full pelt and had covered half the necessary distance by the time Murdoch made it onto the bridge.

_Please don't murder each other,_ Murdoch pleaded. _Please don't murder each other._

As if the arena had heard and considered his request worthy, the ground in front of Inso dropped straight down before he could even consider stopping, and his foot caught nothing but air. He fell out of view. Murdoch didn't stop running but instead jumped over the pit and landed safely on the Major's side of the bridge.

Wait.

…landed safely on the Major's side of the bridge.

…"safely" on the Major's side of the bridge.

…the Major…

He didn't realize how screwed he was right away.

Murdoch looked into the hole left in the ground, his curiosity getting the better of him. The fact that he couldn't see the bottom told him all he needed to know about their elevation. "Sure hope he's okay…" he said under his breath.

"Oh, I'm sure he's fine," said the Major, suddenly next to him and waving away his concern as if it were senseless.

"How did you—?" Murdoch started, but stopped himself and punched for her head instead.

The Major dropped until her knees almost hit the ground and thrust her fist into his stomach; Murdoch crumpled like a leaf at the semi-sucker punch. The smaller Spartan didn't skip a beat and shot up, her uppercut almost toppling him over. She placed her foot against his chest and kicked him back (although it was more a push than a kick).

Murdoch didn't fight back and landed a bit farther away than he should have—about six feet away. The Major took a confident step forward, only to be stopped by Inso jumping in between the two of them, fists crashing into the ground like some sort of enraged primate.

The Major advanced on him, but Inso lashed out with a hammer blow. She was forced to back-step, then dance away before Murdoch could land a hit on her.

Now with a few moments to herself and some decent distance between them, the Major could study the condition she'd left her opponents in and plan accordingly. Murdoch stood tall and straight, one arm clenched and tense with the other loose at his side. Inso was slouching a bit with his arms dangling at his sides—a strange combat pose if she'd ever seen one.

The Major hopped from foot to foot, imitating a professional boxer as she shifted her glance between the Spartans. "Float like a Moonlight Butterfly, sting like a Hornet Ring," she said just loud enough for her to hear.

Well, RooMiE also heard.

_Major, now isn't really the time for _that.

_Well tell me then: When is it time for _that?

There was no reply.

"Dammit, woman! Why won't you answer me?!"

Murdoch and Inso exchanged confused looks. The Major didn't even notice.

Murdoch opened up a private COM link with Inso and started to run him through his plan. "I'm going to need you to keep her distracted while I go around back."

Inso grunted in response.

"You'll see how." Murdoch looked over the edge of the bridge before turning back to his partner. "Trust me."

And then he jumped off.

Inso didn't look longer than he needed to and did what had been requested of him. The Major didn't notice he'd been approaching until he was a mere two feet away. She struck first.

Inso ignored the painfully well-placed hits that made it past his block—every two out of three strikes. He shifted his weight to his off-foot, then violently broke his own x-block just as she was about to jab. Inso's arms uncoiled like whips, and just as quick too, forcing the Major back and giving him the precious second he needed to prepare his counterattack.

Inso clawed at her once, and then again, but this time he allowed the momentum of his swing to carry him, allowing him to spin three-sixty degrees. He faced her, crouched, and clawed with both hands, all in the span of half a second.

The Major had to jump away to evade, thinking, _What was that supposed to accompli—_

Something connected with her back just her feet touched the ground, sending her stumbling back into Inso. He was ready for her.

Inso's palm slammed into her visor, and his fingers immediately squeezed down on her helmet. He picked her up with as much effort as it would take to raise his hand, then threw her right back into the ground in the same motion. A booming _thum _resounded throughout the arena.

Their audience winced.

Black stars exploded in the Major's vision, her breath left her lungs, and her forehead hurt from being knocked into the front of her helmet.

_Okay. He seems pissed, _she managed to think through a haze.

From her position on the ground she could her the Headhunters getting closer, despite the blood flowing to her ears.

_Wakey, wakey, Major… _RooMiE said patronizingly. _You might want to get up, unless you'd rather be coughing up teeth later on._

The Major decided to heed the advice. She lashed out at Murdoch with her legs, completely missing but having the desired effect of getting him to back off. She rolled back until her weight rested on her shoulders and hands, and then pushed and kicked out. She was in the air for no longer than a second before she was back in the fight, crouching low and ready for whatever they could throw at her.

From behind she could hear Murdoch running, and Inso started to move in front of her.

Running…

…running…

…run—the beat was off.

The Major's arm shot to her side. A moment later, Murdoch's leg connected with her forearm. She stepped back and elbowed him; she didn't know where, but she knew it had just bought her some (short) time. She approached Inso and grabbed his elbow mid-hook as her knee struck his stomach, and he staggered back. Using the Headhunters' closeness to her advantage, she kicked back and punched straight simultaneously; torso, arm, and leg parallel to the ground. She knocked them back.

Murdoch blinked, and just as his eyes opened the Major was too close for him to be comfortable. He swung, trying to clothesline her, but she ducked under his offending arm and sprung up behind him. He was quick to stop his attack at the apex, and then brought his arm back. However, the Major was quicker. She sidestepped and caught his wrist before his arm could connect. She kicked low, at waist level, and then high, her leg connecting with Murdoch's leg, midriff, and forehead. Before he could avoid it, the Major spun as she jumped in a full circle. At one-eighty degrees, her leg angled out; at three fifty-nine, she kicked out.

Such force knocked Murdoch off his unsteady feet, and he slid on his back before he recovered and utilized his own momentum to roll back and take a knee. He'd done it just in the nick of time, too. Behind him, the bridge ended—the fall looked like it would hurt.

Murdoch got up and readied himself, expecting the Major to press her advantage. Yet, when he looked at her, she was waving. He dropped his guard. Strange. She wasn't—

Murdoch let out an "Oof!" as a small flying circular platform—the same one he'd used to get behind the Major earlier—slammed into his side and swatted him off the bridge like an annoying pest.

The Major watched with satisfaction, smiling pleasantly to herself…until she heard heavy footfalls behind her. She whipped around to see Inso in the air with his fists over his head, aiming for her. She didn't think, but acted. She dove in his direction, and he landed on the spot she'd been standing on, hands slamming into the ground so hard they almost left dents. The Major watched with astonishment from her position on the ground.

Inso didn't get up right away. A deep rumbling crept up from the back of his throat, getting louder by the second as he turned his head to look at her from over his shoulder. The Major got up slowly, cautiously. Inso shot upright, now facing her, and roared ferociously—the first sort of real, raw emotion from him. It was primal, guttural, angry…and almost inhuman.

Almost.

He jumped at her again, and she leapt away. Inso recovered much quicker this time and rushed her. The Major suddenly perceived time slower, adrenaline kicking in almost voluntarily as she looked her running opponent over. She studied him efficiently enough to find her target just as he was ready to slam her into the ground.

The Major hopped to his side when he released his overhand punch, leaving him open to attack during his recovery. Her leg hit the back of his knees; his legs buckled and he fell, but managed to catch himself on his hands. The Major made to kick Inso's face in while he was down, but she hadn't counted on him catching her by the ankle. Before she could retaliate, he gave her a hard shove and, try as she might, could not keep her balance. She fell onto her back and her vision split for a second, then focused again. Inso was standing over her with his leg lifted up to knee length, ready to stomp her into dust.

_Shit!_

Inso brought his foot down. The Major log-rolled away.

_Shit, shit, crap! _she thought with each roll and subsequent stomp.

She narrowly avoided getting hit…but ended up rolling right off the bridge. The Major's heart skipped a beat at the sudden decline in elevation, and the jolt in her brain shot to her arm. She grabbed for the ledge and caught it before she could fall any farther.

The Major hung there, her eyes attracted to what was below her, which was a lot of empty space before she'd land rather uncomfortably at the bottom. She allowed herself to laugh nervously at the close call. Then a shadow fell over her like a cloud come to rain on her parade.

What a sucky parade.

The Major looked up slowly and tentatively. She already knew what was going to happen, but that didn't make facing it any easier. Inso was kneeling down right at the bridge's edge and looking down at her. He was no longer making any sounds, yet somehow this managed to show his contempt better than any snarl or bellow. The Major made no move to get back atop the bridge.

Inso curled the fingers of one hand and raised his arm over his head.

_Heh-heh, mind the fall,_ RooMiE said as the Major engineered a way out of her predicament—one that would leave her body as humanoid as possible, of course. She brought her free hand up as if to grab the ledge…

Inso jabbed—she let go. Her free hand caught his fist and her other one latched on to his bicep. His knee slipped, he was almost dragged down with her, but he just managed to dig his foot into the ground and shove his fingertips into the tiny space between two tiles. He tottered at the edge. This would not do.

The Major tucked her knees in to her chest, then placed her feet flush against the side of the bridge. She pushed with her legs and pulled on his arm simultaneously. Inso could not keep his balance with his poor grip on the bridge and fell over.

The Major released his fist but kept her grip on his arm firm as they dropped down. She used this to get closer to him, which was considerably harder to do when in the air than with some ground to step on. The Major let loose with a barrage of blows to his giant visor that just begged to be punched. Inso held up his arm to protect himself (which didn't work out too well), but sacrificed protection for offensive tactics when he reached for her throat. His fingers scraped against his target, yet she was able to twist away and prevent them from wrapping around her. He still got a hold of her armor's collar though. He pulled her in close and was just about ready to beat her into a coma—

—when the two crash-landed a bit earlier than they should have, her on him. (Apparently, the arena had decided to be courteous and gave them a platform to land on.)

They wasted nary a second in getting back into the fight. The Major held Inso's head back and prepared a spear-hand strike to his exposed throat. Inso was quick to get her off of himself with a double-booted kick to the chest. She found herself sprawled out on the floor. She kip-upped before he could take advantage. But as it turned out, she needn't worry about that, as Inso was crouched on the other side of the platform, shaking due to who-knows-what.

The shaking got more and more violent as the Major watched on, interested. He was growling just loud enough for her to hear (he seemed to have a problem with expressing his thoughts vocally). Finally, he snapped up and roared once again, this one louder than the last time. The Major steeled herself for the worst.

In the time it would take you to snap your fingers, Inso was already running and halfway to her. The Major relaxed her muscles and bent her knees. When the beast was upon her, stomping his foot into the ground, she lunged back headfirst, landed in a handstand, then pushed off from the floor and sprung back. The maneuver worked—her back handspring allowed for her to avoid his attack and put some distance in between them. She repeated this over and over again, once for each of his attacks. Inso's jabs, hooks, and crosses could not find a spot for his fist to nestle in comfortably (preferably her face).

Inso took one more step than usual to ensure a good hit, but he never got so much a chance to clench his fist. When the Major's legs swung up, her toes caught him under his chin, stopping him in his tracks as his head snapped back. She sprung forward with arms outstretched the second her feet touched the ground. Her shoulder slammed into his gut and her arms instinctively wrapped themselves around his midsection. The force was enough to knock him off the platform, but she didn't let go as he plunged down…down…down…

As they got closer and closer to the bottom, colossal pillars rose from the ground to surround the falling duo, forming a massive ring. It would seem like the environment was purposefully shaping itself to keep them going at it. They soon fell out of view (pun completely intended) from the audience. A few members of the crowd actually tried to get closer to the glass panel or peer over their peers to get a better look at what they expected to be a spectacular crash. It didn't work.

A minute had passed with no signs of them being grounded yet, but they must have by then. The fall hadn't been from a height big enough to justify them still being in the air. The pillars finished their ring, only for more pillars within said ring to rise up and do the same. Soon enough there were seven smaller rings within the much bigger one, each taller than the last but smaller in circumference. All room for any extra rings had been exhausted, leaving only space for one last pillar to rise, smack-dab in the middle of the towering, makeshift structure. Inso and the Major had yet to be seen.

It could have been five seconds or five minutes that the crowd had been collectively holding their breath in anticipation of the reveal. (But it probably wasn't the latter. Most of them would have passed out by then.) All except Rick and Sam, who both already knew the outcome. Rick's erratic, calculating mind had come to the only logical conclusion to the match a quarter way through the fight, while Sam just knew the Major too well.

The final pillar rose silently into the sky, the sight atop it reminiscent of what one might find in a trophy case. Inso was lying on his back, an arm and leg slumping over the edge, and the Major was standing with her foot on his chest as if to display her conquest for all to see. She looked out at the crowd, smiling for the (nonexistent) cameras. From the Skybox, the view was something to behold. She stood at the peak of a pyramid of white tiles—which seemed to be a monument in tribute to her victory—while her foe lay beaten and battered at her feet.

The Major took the moment to drink it all in. After all, what's the point of winning if you can't revel in your victory?

The arena started to return to its usual, bland self, the white tiles retracting into the floor and walls. Considering the Spartans had been the center of attention throughout the session, hardly anyone had noticed that the rest of the arena resembled something of an obstacle course, its many pillars and platforms forming gigantic buildings, thin bridges resembling trapeze wires, and even swinging pendulums. An impressive training room, indeed.

The Major's..."victory pyramid" was the last thing that went underground, leaving her and an unconscious Inso grounded.

_Clank! Clank! Clank!_

The sound of obnoxiously loud footfalls came from behind her. (The long spacing in between them told her the person walking was injured. Murdoch.) Sure enough, good ol' Murdo was there when she turned around. His shoulders were slumped, his breathing was ragged, and there was a limp to his gait. The Major did nothing to stop him as he got closer to her. He stopped in front of her, tried to straighten up, then made to hit her. His arm dropped as it swung.

"Aw, fuck it. I'm done," he said, defeated. Then he collapsed.

The Major looked around, grinned, and then gestured a…gesture that would have pissed off the Headhunters if they weren't unconscious.

Well! What is it!

* * *

Director Garrison waited in his office for the Major to pop in for the third time that day. He looked over the files he was about to send to Christopher Powell, a man that wasn't very important. Well, except for the fact that he was the one that not only signed Director Garrison's paychecks, but was also the true director of their little project. The "Director" in "Director Garrison" was just a formality with Powell away from the team.

Director Garrison scrolled his mouse over one of the text documents and skimmed through it again.

"…missing civilians…complex abandoned…huge spike in some kind of activity…" he muttered.

He closed the report, satisfied that it contained all available information they had on the curious situation they found themselves in. That was when the Major stepped inside, or, rather, _stumbled_ inside. Alexandria had brought her to him, as per his request. Although it seemed that she might have used excessive force, if the way the Major was holding her head was any indication. Director Garrison had to question it.

"What happened?"

The Major kicked the visitors' chair aside and sat cross-legged on the floor. "Ms. Corruo here is much more interested in hitting me than making friends." She leaned back on her hands. "Quite rude, actually. And painful."

She turned around from her spot on the ground to look at Alex. "Wanna kiss it, make it better?"

The Corporal kind of beamed at that proposal. She didn't get to act on it.

"Corporal, if you will…" The Director waved his hand towards the door.

"But…" she started, "…kiss."

The Major just cocked her head to the side curiously.

Alex fought to keep what little composure she had left.

_Don't be so impulsive, Alex. Lest you jump her bones._

Director Garrison looked at her expectantly. Corruo sighed inwardly and nodded grudgingly before going out the automatic door.

The Major got up and used her elbows to rest on the Director's desk. "Geesh, Garry. Where'd you find her?"

"You mean you don't remember her?"

"No. It's funny, she asked the same thing when I met her earlier today."

"What do you mean you met her earlier today? You met her—wait, that's irrelevant right now."

The Director typed something up and brought up several different windows on his monitor, each one displaying a different bit of information on the assignment he was about to…assign.

"All right, so you're probably wondering why I brought you in."

"The thought did cross my mind, yeah."

"I think you'll be interested to know that we already found the owner of the facility."

The Major raised an eyebrow. "That was fast."

"Indeed. I wasn't expecting a name so soon, especially from a company that doesn't so much as print its name on its employees' ID cards. Although we wouldn't have found them so soon if they hadn't come to us."

"_They_ came to us?" The Major wore a look of legitimate surprise. "That's a new one."

"It caught me off guard, too. About an hour into the search, I got a message saying this."

He turned the monitor so she could see. It was your average encrypted e-mail, with the subject reading, _Trial and Error,_ and with a simple message typed up: _Meet us._ An obscure set of coordinates followed.

"Ooh, spooky." The Major wiggled her fingers at him to elaborate.

"I had no idea who'd sent the message at first, but then I downloaded the files they'd attached—after several extensive scans, of course."

He brought up a picture showing the site of destruction, complete with dead Elites.

"Neat-o! We have stalkers."

"Now, despite what my intuition tells me, you are to head to the location they've given us and find out just what is going on."

"Ah, we're off to solve a mystery! That'll be one down, several others to go."

"Several?" Director Garrison reclined in his chair. "How so?"

The Major grinned. "Director, I didn't know you were interested in our concerns."

Director Garrison shrugged. "Well, if I wasn't, our human resources person would be quick to get on my ass about it."

"Wait. We have a human resources person?"

"No," he said flatly.

"Didn't think so," she replied quickly, "but that doesn't matter—just answer me this: What interest did ONI have in this building?"

The Director sighed. "I thought that'd be your question. Okay, pay attention."

He typed on his keyboard again and brought up a 3D model of the facility and the surrounding geographical features. It was presented in a top-down view.

"This is just a recreation of what we picked up yesterday."

The image stayed as it was for ten seconds. Then twenty. Then thirty. The Major must have been missing something, because by the fortieth second there was still nothing. But then there was.

From the 3D facility, something…pulsed. The recreation was raw, but she knew what it was.

"That seemed to be a big burst of electromagnetic radiation," she said.

"That's right. Something like this…Of course it's going to get our attention. With Powell's go-ahead, we sent you there. Unfortunately, as you all now know, this held no answers."

"And now I'm supposed to go out and talk to this mysterious e-mail messenger of yours that probably has the answers we're looking for, but they most likely won't be what we want to hear."

"Correct."

The Major studied him for a moment before she jumped back and clapped her hands once. "Okay!" She turned around and headed for the door.

"Oh, and Major, just two more things."

She faced him again.

"Take this chip." He held out a small wafer-sized disk to her, which she took. "It might help. And also, don't bother getting in your armor. If you're going to be our ambassador, we don't need you scaring our lead." The Major chuckled softly. "Okay, fine, Garry. But armor or no, I plan on leaving an impression."

And with a wicked grin she was out the door.

* * *

**Easter egg count: 5**

**-That book had nothing to do with killing mockingbirds**

******-That story should have never been written...**

**-Someone in Florida is Cry-ing right now**

**-Prepare to die... (One quote spoken and one gesture pertain to this.)**

**Line from the next chapter:**

_**Don't follow,**** dummy.**_


End file.
